


Once More Around the Block

by Brightest_Moonstone



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universes, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Time Loop, Time Travel, now with art, playing fast and loose with canon, post Sly 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightest_Moonstone/pseuds/Brightest_Moonstone
Summary: The Egyptian sun beat mercilessly against the back of his neck. Sly felt a trickle of sweat track its way down his back.Clockwerk raised a wing to shield his face.He had a chance, a chance to save not only his parents but hundreds of other Coopers.Could he do it?Could he do it knowing this Clockwerk was not yet the murderous enemy of his clan?One life for many.He lifted his cane.He made his choice.





	Once More Around the Block

**Author's Note:**

> So Mayurei and I got into something of an angsty headcanon off and then I decided 'hey why not smoosh all these ideas together and cover them with a thin veneer of plot?' and thus this fic was born.  
> Enjoy.

He’d known immediately. How could he not have recognised that silhouette against the endless blue Egyptian sky. The enemy of the Cooper clan. The immortal owl Clockwerk.  
Except this Clockwerk was no immortal, no unfeeling machine. Flesh, blood and feathers cowering in the sand.

Sly’s hand shook, sunlight glinting off the head of his cane.

He remembered being eight years old, watching from the closet as the Five had dragged his father outside.

This Clockwerk wasn’t the one from his memories, this Clockwerk had not yet become the emotionless robot fuelled by hatred.

If Sly stopped this Clockwerk now, he could save generations of Coopers. He could save his parents.

Could he do it?

Was it within him to do?

He lifted his cane.

He made his choice.

* * *

_“Sly! Sly? What happened? Where did he go? Dios, Bentley he just disappeared.”_

_“Something must have changed. Don’t worry, we’ll reset and get him back.”_

_“Uhh… guys we kinda have another problem.”_

_“Oh no hold onto something. BRACE YOURSELVES.”  
_

_`CRASH`_

* * *

Dawn filtered through the curtains as Sly woke in an unfamiliar bed. Tentatively he slid out, and opened the door. This was his parents’ house, he recognised the walls, the carpet. 

He was home.

He padded barefoot into the kitchen, there was a woman standing at the stove. Her long brown plait swaying as she hummed gently to herself. She turned at his approach, silent though he’d been.

“Good morning darling, would you like..?”

Sly crossed the kitchen in three great strides and pulled her into a hug, “Mom.” He said, voice cracking. “Mom.”

“Sly?” Daisy May-Cooper’s hands fluttered over her son’s back. “Darling what’s wrong?”

A hand landed on Sly’s shoulder. “Let your mother breathe son or we’ll never get breakfast.”

Sly jerked away, Conner Cooper his father stood beside him wearing his dressing gown and grinning.  
Sly swallowed a choked noise and hugged him too.

“Sly are you alright?” His mother asked fussing and checking him for a fever. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sly smiled feeling years younger, lighter. He gently moved his mother aside and took the skillet. “Here Mom let me do that.”

“Oh…” Daisy frowned, “but…”

Sly leaned toward her still grinning, “I’m fine Mom I promise.” He turned back to the stove reaching for the pancake batter.

Conner pulled a chair out for his wife, made a grand gesture for her to sit, and began to bustle about making tea. 

There was a knock at the door,  
“I’ll get that.” Daisy said brightly. “It must be your wife darling.”

Sly nearly dropped the skillet, his wife? He looked down and sure enough on his left hand was a handsome silver ring. He lifted the hand to inspect the grooves cut into the band. When the two rings were put together they made up their initials, his brain supplying him with a memory that was both his and not.

A voice floated down the hall, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get in last night. We just had to finish wrapping up the case.”

“Nonsense dear, you really should have let us pick you up from the airport.” Daisy was saying.

Carmelita walked into the kitchen waving a dismissive hand. “I had enough in the budget for a cab, might as well since Interpol refuses to let upgrade me to first class.” She came around the table to kiss Sly’s cheek. “Good morning querida.”

“H _iiiii…_ ” Sly warbled.

“So what was the case?” Conner asked pouring tea for Daisy and Carmelita.

Carmelita began recounting her chase of a black marketeer through Hong Kong. Ended when the unfortunate perp had crashed a rickshaw into a fruit stall.

Conner laughed heartily clapping his son on the back, “don’t you feel left out? Your wife’s department gets so much more excitement than yours.”

“I like the antiquities department.” Sly said, the reply came easily, automatically to his lips. This was a familiar exchange, his father’s gentle teasing and Sly’s own quiet defence. Realisation hit Sly like a truck, he missed the pancake he was flipping and it splattered onto his face. 

He was a cop!

He was Senior Inspector Cooper of Interpol.

He’d never been a thief, he was a member of Interpol as his mother had once been. He’d met Carmelita at the academy. He worked in the Antiquities Department, tracking down stolen artefacts.

He was a cop?

Shell shocked and still reeling he barely noticed his laughing mother take the pan away from him. He sat heavily at the table.

“How’s the baby?” Carmelita asked turning her teacup round in her hands.

_BABY?!?_

“She’s fine, still asleep,” Daisy smiled. “…well then speak of the devil.”  
A reedy cry echoed down the hall.

“Got her mother’s lungs on her that one.” Conner chuckled. He jerked his head, “Sly go get your daughter.”

Mechanically Sly got to his feet and walked down the hall. A little girl stood at the rail of her cot, a grey furred raccoon with a crown of bright red curls.  
“Rena.” His memory supplied. “Good morning baby.”

“Da.” His daughter, …his daughter reached for him.

He lifted her into his arms, fighting back a wave of confused emotion.

“Da?” Rena said patting his face, tiny baby face concerned.

Sly blinked as he realised he was crying, “let’s… let’s go see Mama ‘kay?”

 

“Hey look who it is.” Sly said passing Rena to Carmelita and taking the opportunity to kiss her properly. Then he sat at the table and had breakfast, with his family.

Sly was lying on the lounge room floor playing with Rena, half-listening to Carmelita and his father’s conversation about the latest security system Conner had been hired to test.

“You’re going to send this company bankrupt.” Carmelita shook her head.

“Hey now, they only hire me to get through the system not to tell what they’re doing wrong.” Conner smirked taking a sip of his coffee.

Daisy entered the room carrying a dusty box, “look what I found when I was looking for toys for Rena.” She set the box on the coffee table.

It was full of old books and papers, Carmelita gently tugged a folder from the pile.  
“Are these Sly’s drawings?” She asked delightedly, flipping it open.

“School books and things too.” Daisy smiled at her son.

“Moooooooommm...” Sly groaned.

“What’s this?” Carmelita spread a picture onto the table.

Sly went cold, Clockwerk’s silhouette dominated the page.

“That’s the owl Sly used to have nightmares about.” Daisy said, “Look here’s another one of him fighting it.” She passed Carmelita another picture.

“Is this me?” Carmelita tapped a bright, fox tailed figure that appeared to be shooting lightning.

“I did say I felt I knew you when we first met.” Sly quipped.

“And I say you have a type Ringtail.” Carmelita laughed. She reached for another drawing but a flash of colour caught Sly’s eye and he grabbed it first.

The paper was yellowed with age and curling at the edges. Emblazoned in the centre clumsily but lovingly drawn were a pink hippo and a little green turtle.

“Well look at that, those were your imaginary friends when you were little. Do you remember?” His mother looked over his shoulder.

Sly felt his breakfast turn to a sickening lead weight in his gut. Of course, that’s what was missing, the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. His parents were alive, no orphanage.

No Bentley.

No Murray.

“He used to play games where he and his gang would go all around the world.” His father was telling Carmelita.

Sly shot to his feet, “I need some air… I’ll be… I’ll be right back.”

“Sly?” Carmelita reached for him as he passed but Sly just shook his head.

 

Standing in his parents’ backyard Sly dropped his face into his hands. What was he doing? Playing pretend in someone else’s life? This wasn’t him. Suburban, domestic, routine, safe. He’d traded his best friends, his brothers for his parents.

He felt a hand on his back, “alright son, do you want to tell me what’s wrong? Our girls are worried about you.”

“Dad…” He said brokenly.

“If this is about Rena and the book, I understand. Your mother and I worried about how to tell you too. We wanted you to be aware of your legacy but not bound by it and we want the same for Rena.”

“Dad… I’m not… does it bother you…? I’m not a thief. What kind of Cooper am I? Have I… have I disappointed you?” 

“Disappointed?” His father’s hand moved up to grip his shoulder. “You took after your mother, the best person in the world. How could I be disappointed?”

“Would you be happier if I took after you? If I was a thief.. would you..” he swallowed thickly. “Would you be proud of me?” He felt so small all of a sudden.

His father turned Sly to face him, “you are my son. If you were a thief I have no doubt you would be the best in the world, you are a Cooper after all. However, this life, this life you have chosen is just that your choice. And I am so, so proud of you.”

Sly felt something in his chest crack, he wrapped his arms around his father and buried his face against his shoulder. And cried like a child.

* * *

_“It’s broken?”_  


_“Don’t worry I can fix this. I can fix this. Hold it still Murray.”_  


_“You got it pal.”_  


_“Bentley wait..”_  


_“Oh no.”_  


**`BOOM`**

* * *

The Egyptian sun beat mercilessly against the back of his neck. Sly felt a trickle of sweat track its way down his back.  


Clockwerk raised a wing to shield his face.  


He had a chance, a chance to save not only his parents but hundreds of other Coopers.  


Could he do it?  


Could he do it knowing this Clockwerk was not yet the murderous enemy of his clan?  


One life for many.  


He lifted his cane.  


He made his choice.

* * *

Sly’s head ached, déjà vu pounding at his temples like a hangover. It was evening, stars blooming in the inky blue twilight outside the window. He was in a bed at his parents’ house, not his bed he knew that much. He was visitor here, not a resident.

The house was quiet as Sly crept into the hall but he could hear the hum of the television from the lounge room.

Big Jim McSweeney his father’s muscleman was slouched in one of his parent’s armchairs.  
“Well Sleeping Beauty has awoken from his slumber, evening kiddo.”

Sly blinked a little vacantly. “Hi…”

Conner Cooper wandered in pausing to ruffle his son’s hair, “rested and ready for the job tonight son?”

“Uh yeah.” Sly nodded. Now this was more his style.

“Hey kid, it’s that racing driver you like so much.” McSweeney said, nodding at the TV.

“Huh?” Sly turned to see Murray on the screen wearing a racing jumpsuit, a trophy held aloft. 

There was a cut to a reporter interviewing Bentley,  
“Oh I am so proud of Murray. We grew up in the same orphanage you know. And he used the first prize money he ever won to help me set up my engineering business. I’m glad to be his manager.”

Sly felt a smile curl at the corner of his mouth, “good for you guys.” He whispered, “good for you.”

Conner tucked a laptop under his arm, “let’s get moving.”

McSweeney stood, yawning and stretching hugely. “Are you sure ‘bout this Cunning? This job is going to be hard going without M.”

“M is gone.” Conner said, his voice cold and hard. “He made his choice.”

Sly’s mother appeared in the doorway. “Please be careful.”

Conner kissed his wife, “always.”

Sly resisted the adolescent urge to make retching noises.

Daisy turned to her son embracing him fiercely, “and you, you come home safe.”

Sly returned the hug, “yes Mom.”

 

The museum was shadowed and silent as Sly dropped to the floor.

“Right Sly,” his father’s voice was low and calm through his earpiece. “Security for the main room is offline… now. Remember you’ll need to trigger the pressure plate before you…”

“It’s okay Dad, I have done this before.” Sly placated. He slipped beneath the security gate and into the main room.

The Eye of Fa, a gleaming necklace set with a flawless emerald sat on pedestal. Sly approached one hand outstretched, from outside there was a distant wail of sirens. Sly snatched his hand back, dropping into a crouch.

“Sly the cops are here. Time to go.”

Sly smirked, twirling his cane, “don’t worry Dad I’ll buy us some time. You guys get a head start I’ll distract her.”

Sly was so focussed on his opening line he completely missed his father’s incredulous,  
“Her?” through his earpiece. 

Sly moved back the way he’d come whistling softly. He spun his cane again and leaned on it, waiting. There was the sound of running feet and then a voice,  
“Stop in the name of the law.”

Sly cocked his head, that didn’t sound like Carmelita. An enormous trench coat clad dog burst around the corner. A head and a half taller than Sly with a bristling moustache and a cigar clenched between his teeth.

Sly’s ears dropped flat against his head, “definitely not Carmelita.”

“Well if it isn’t Cooper junior.” The definitely-not-Carmelita-Inspector said, bringing up his weapon to point at Sly.

This was Inspector McGraw, the Interpol agent who chased his father, Sly’s brain informed him in that peculiar rush of memory that was both his and not. Somehow, Sly didn’t think his usual brand of flirty banter would go over well with this particular member of law enforcement.

Before he could come up with a witty rejoinder, a pair of booted feet landed on McGraw’s shoulders and Conner Cooper’s joined fists came down hard on the back of the Inspector’s head.  
“Get away from my son.” Conner snarled. His eyes snapped up to Sly, “we are leaving.”

Sly felt himself shrink under the weight of his father’s angry, protective gaze, “yes sir. Right behind you.”

 

“What were you thinking?” Conner chided his son, “McGruff the crime dog almost got you. You’re better than that Sly.”

“Sorry Dad I was expecting someone else.”

His father raised a brow. “I’m sorry, someone else?” 

Sly was distractedly wondering Carmelita was, if she wasn’t chasing him. Deprived of his usual avenue of getting her attention (doing something illegal), he supposed he’d have to do something else to find her. He racked his brain but the his-not-his memories didn’t conjure any recollections of her, maybe they’d never met. Maybe she didn’t know him at all… maybe she did know him at all! Sly’s ears perked,  
“Sorry Dad, gotta go.” He said quickly gripping Conner’s arm before rushing off.

“Sly…?” His father yelled after him. “Sly!”

 

An evening of discreet investigation revealed there was a Constable Carmelita Fox at Interpol. So the next morning Sly strolled into the head office, a package under his arm and his most charming smile on his face.

“Delivery for Constable Fox.” He said (he’d toyed with doing his Italian accent but without Bentley in his ear to complain about how awful it was, it didn’t seem worth it).

The sweet faced mouse on the desk pointed him down several endless hallways to a tiny repurposed broom closet serving as an office.

Sly knocked, “Constable Fox?”

Carmelita looked up from her paperwork and the one-two punch of delight at the sight of her and then the unexpected hurt at her total lack of recognition of his face almost floored him.  
“Yes?”

Sly cleared his throat, “delivery.”

“Oh… put it…” She waved a hand vaguely over her desk, “somewhere.”

Sly took a step into her office, “pardon me but have we met?”

She looked up again, a wrinkle appearing between her brows. “I don’t think so no.” She tilted her head smiling slightly, “or perhaps I have arrested you before?”

Sly returned the smile, “perhaps in another life.” He said.

“Indeed.” Carmelita said in the tone that usually implied the end of her famously short patience. To be fair she was probably wondering what this strange delivery guy was playing at. “Can I help you with something sir?”

Sly gathered his courage, “would you like to go out sometime?”

Carmelita returned to her paperwork, “no. Thank you but I do not think my husband would appreciate that.”

Sly felt his heart do an uncomfortable stutter in his chest. “Husband?” He echoed, voice cracking.

Without looking up, she spun a picture frame on her desk toward Sly. Carmelita and a handsome grey fox smiled behind the glass.

“You’re married?!?”

The naked astonishment in his voice made her lift her head. “Do I not look like someone who would be married?”

“Does he… does he buy you flowers?” Sly asked.

When they had been together every week Sly had bought her flowers, a dozen red roses. The florist had eventually told him he could make a standing order but Sly replied that this kept him thinking about Carmelita. So that every week she would know how much he appreciated her.

“Flowers?” Carmelita was now looking at him like he was completely mad. “No, why?”

Somehow, Sly managed a smile, “because you look like the type of woman who deserves to be bought flowers.” He said softly.

Carmelita started to stand, eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

But Sly was gone, out and away. His delivery, a box of Carmelita’s favourite chocolates left on her desk.

* * *

_“It’s still not working!”_  


_“Hand me those pliers I think I can…”_  


`BZZZT`  


_“Bentley!”_  


_“I’m okay. I can do this. I will do this. We’re going to save Sly!”_

* * *

The air shimmered around Sly, illusions dancing at the edges of his vision under the relentless Egyptian sun.  


Clockwerk-but-not-yet-Clockwerk fell to his knees in the sand, one wing raised.

Sly’s hand shook, he felt a terrible roiling in his gut. Is this what his parents would have wanted? But did that matter? They were dead and the creature that would murder them was at Sly’s feet.

He lifted his cane.

He made his choice.

* * *

Sly woke with a start. He was wedged in the back of the team van, his feet propped up on the front seats. His head ached fit to burst.

“Had a good nap pal?”

Sly turned his head, Murray was sitting at the wheel looking at him expectantly. Sly slung an arm around his friend pulling him into an awkward one-armed hug.

“Uh Sly?”

“It’s good to see you pal.”

“The Murray is confused.”

Letting go Sly leaned back, “don’t worry about it.”

The passenger side door creaked open and Bentley climbed in.  
“Right so I got bear claws for Murray, pain au chocolat for Sly and Berliners for good measure.” He said holding up a paper bag.

Sly’s throat worked soundlessly for a second before leaning halfway over the seat to embrace his friend.

“Uhh… you’re welcome?” Bentley hazarded.

“Are you sure you’re okay Sly?” Murray asked.

Sly took a bite out his pastry, “sure am big guy. Hey Bentley how about you run the details for the heist past me again.”

“Really?” Bentley and Murray said in disbelieving unison.

“Sure why not?” Sly said stuffing more pastry into his mouth.

“Well you did say last night, and I quote ‘no Bentley really eight times is enough. I’ve broken into eggs with more security than this museum.’”

Sly waved what was left of his breakfast, scattering crumbs. “Once more to be safe. Ninth times the charm and all that.”

“Oh…o…kay.” Bentley said producing notes from within his shell. “Preparation is the soul of prepared-ness after all.”

Sly laughed, this felt closest to home and he was glad of a little familiarity. Even with the aching in his head, the after echoes of lives both his and not-his beating against the inside of his skull. This, this felt like home.

 

The three of them set up in their safe house ready to wait for nightfall. It was a dim, empty old apartment still strewn with the detritus of whoever had crashed there last. As Murray poked through the kitchenette, wondering loudly about lunch, Bentley and Sly cleared up the living area.

“Uhh… Sly?”

“Yeah pal?” Sly said picking up an armload of empty cans and dumping them into the trash bag.

“I think… I think you might want to see this.”

Sly turned, Bentley was holding out a newspaper.

Smirking Sly cocked his head, “why am I in it?”

Bentley didn’t return his smile, just motioned with the paper.

Sly didn’t like the grave expression on his friend’s face, what could an old newspaper possibly…

[COMA MIRACLE], the headline read.

"Doctors were amazed when Mrs. Daisy May-Cooper regained consciousness on Monday morning." Sly read. "Mrs May-Cooper fell into a coma after suffering a traumatic head injury during a home invasion. Mrs May-Cooper’s husband died attempting to protect her and their young son. The invasion was believed to be an attempt by rival thieves to uncover the location of Mrs May-Cooper’s husband (renowned thief ‘Cunning’ Conner Cooper)’s fortune. Mrs May-Cooper’s son, eight at the time of the attack survived unharmed and entered into state care. As he left no forwarding address when he aged out of the system, the orphanage unfortunately has no way of contacting him. A reward is being offered for anyone with information, so that this family... this family might be reunited."

Sly lowered the paper, “this… this is my mom.” He whispered hoarsely.  
He ran his fingers over the accompanying picture, an old family photograph. Himself and his parents at an amusement park, Sly beaming and holding his father’s hand and clutching a balloon.  


He’d left that photo in its frame beside his mother’s hospital bed.  


Sly felt his legs go weak and he sank to the floor.  


“Sly?” He felt one of Murray’s massive hands on his shoulder.  


The date? How long had his mother been awake? The paper was dated a week and a half ago (they’d been in Italy his-not-his-memories informed him). “We have to go back.” He said weakly. “I known we’ve been planning this job for weeks but this… this is my mom.”  


“No fear citizen THE MURRAY will get you home.” Murray said flexing.  


“I’m looking up schematics for the hospital as we speak.” Bentley put in hunched over his laptop.  


Sly kneaded his eyes with the heel of his palms fighting the prickle of tears. “You guys… you guys are the best.”  


“We’ve got your back brother.” Bentley said.  


  


The Metro Paris hospital was quiet as the graveyard shift moved about the wards. Most patients were asleep and the staff held hushed conversations around their desks. No one saw the small dark figure making his steady way up the side of the building.

Sly slipped into his mother’s room waiting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was movement from the bed, a woman turned toward him she looked impossibly frail against the stark hospital sheets.  


“Conner?” A voice harsh and cracked with long disuse.  


Sly felt his gut clench. “Mom?” Head ducked and shoulders hunched he slid forward.  


There was a long silence, then a hiccupping sob as his mother lifted a shaking hand. “Sly? Oh my god baby, come here. Let me look at you…”  


“Mom.” Sly crawled onto the bed pulling her into a hug. “Mom.”  


“What are you doing… doing here in the middle of the night?”  


“Sorry Mom, visiting hours aren’t really my thing.”  


Daisy Cooper looked over her son her gaze resting on his cane. “Oh my darling boy, oh I’ve failed you haven’t I? That damn book. Everything stemming from that damn book.”  


Sly could feel her begin to cry, “no Mom, no please. Its okay, I’m okay. I’m doing this like Dad would want.”  


“That book, it killed your father.” She gripped his sleeve, pulling back to look at him. “They told me… when I woke, oh but you’d already know…” Her grip slackened. “It’s been such a long time.” She whispered.  


“It’s okay Mom I promise. I’m okay, I have some good friends and I’m… I’m doing what a Cooper should. Please Mom, please don’t cry.”  


Daisy hugged her son tighter, “I only ever wanted you safe. And now I’ve lost you… like I lost your father.”  


“I am safe and I’m right here. Mom please.” Sly felt helpless, like a child. His mother was so small now and her pale brown hair had lightened even further, streaked through with silver. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.  


“Sly, darling I…” Daisy started to say but she broke off gasping, clutching at her gown.  


“Mom!” Sly didn’t care that he’d shouted, the abrupt wailing of instruments around his mother’s bed drowned him out anyway.  


As the wailing became a cacophony, it brought running feet, doctors and nurses burst into the room drawing back the curtains around the bed. Eyes only for their patient and her failing readings none of them noticed the tip of a striped tail disappearing out the window. 

* * *

The sun burned above him and the wind shifted the sand at his feet.

Anger warred with fear.

Sweat crawled down his back.

One life for many.

His honour for his parents lives.

Clockwerk raised a wing in fear of a blow. “Please,” the owl begged, “please don’t do this.”

Sly was eight years old watching from the closet as his father had reached for the too still form of his mother.  
“Please no, not my family.” But the Five had shown no mercy.

Sly’s jaw clenched.

He lifted his cane.

He made his choice.

But now he understood, the only way to keep his family safe was to watch over them. To outlast the ages.

He would protect the Cooper clan.

He understood.

 

He saw the world in red. Data and readouts scrolled through the edges of his vision.

He had no headache this time, because of course, machines don’t feel pain.

He saw a thousand lifetimes worth of memories unfold as his consciousness and awareness played catch up.

He saw his younger self, cradling Carmelita as blood seeped out from beneath her hair.

“What have you done?” His younger self was yelling. 

Sly watched the memory with a dispassionate detachment. “You do not understand. She only would have stopped you.” His voice was warped and reverberating strangely.

“You didn’t have to hurt her. Carmelita wake up, please Carmelita…”

“You do not understand, all of this has been for your protection.”

His younger self gently lay Carmelita down and got to his feet, cane in hand. “If this is what you call protection then I do. NOT. WANT. IT.”

He felt neither disappointment nor sadness, he had left those behind long ago. “Ahh... you do not understand.” And he raised his cane.

 

He saw his father standing before him, trembling with rage. “You killed my son.”

“I am your son. The other was weak, he did not understand. You do not need him. You have me.”

“You are a monster and I want my son back!”

Again, there was no resignation or sadness, just the cold sure certainty that he was right. “You do not understand.” 

He lifted his cane.

Sly pulled away from the memory and looked down at his gleaming silver hands. 

He was the last of the Coopers.

They had not understood.

Trapped within his own mind Sly began to scream.

* * *

_“Wait… wait I think I’ve got it!”_  


_“Are you sure?”_  


_“One way to find out. Punch it Murray, we’re gonna save Sly.”_

* * *

Egypt again.

Sand, sun and the hot wind.

The enemy of his clan at his feet.

His cane held too tight in his hand.

He ached, exhausted.

He lifted his cane.

“Sly.”

He turned at the sound of his name, Carmelita was running over the sand toward him. Behind her was Murray carrying Bentley.

Carmelita slipped, “Cooper stop please. This isn’t you. Don’t do this.”

He made his choice.

He lowered his cane.

He sank to his knees.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured to Clockwerk. “I’m sorry.”

There was a great beating of wings and the owl was gone, up and up until he was a speck against the sky. Sly knelt in the sand watching him go.

A body crashed into his,  
“Sly, Sly, Sly.” Carmelita whispered, kissing him everywhere she could reach.

“’Lita, ‘Lita, ‘Lita.” He pulled her against himself, “’Lita I’m so tired.”

“Querida, querida we have come to take you home, you can rest.”

“Sly…” Bentley wailed. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Hey pal.” Sly said tiredly.

Murray then lifted the three of them into an enormous group hug. “I’m so glad we’re all together again.” He said tearfully.

“Me too pal.” Sly said patting his friend’s arm.

“Murray…” Bentley squawked. “I hate to interrupt this tender moment but I can’t breathe.”

“Oops sorry.” Murray said hastily putting Sly and Carmelita down.

“Let’s go home.” Carmelita said. “All of us home.”

“Yeah,” Sly agreed weakly. “Home.”

He didn’t see the owl circling above, didn’t see the burning, hateful stare fixed on his back as his friends helped him limp away. Didn’t see the spark of vengeance forming.

 

Slumped against Carmelita’s shoulder in the van Sly squeezed his eyes shut trying to block out the dream like echoes of all he’d seen.  
“Guys,” he said quietly. “When we get back there’s something I want to do. Something different I want to try.”

“Oh?” Bentley perked from the back. “Like what?”

“I’ll tell you when we get home pal, right now I think I want a nap.”

Carmelita ran a hand across his cheek, “get some sleep Ringtail, we’ll be here when you wake up.”

Yeah, Sly thought as he drifted off. And nothing could make him happier than that.

* * *

Cooper Consulting was born in the aftermath of Sly’s misplacement in time and the subsequent time loop caused by the paradox and his friend’s attempts to fix the malfunctioning time machine.  
With Sly at its head, he set up a network out of his old contacts and the word began to pass around Paris. If you had a problem and the law could not help, there was a thief, a brain and a brawler who would.

As for Sly sometimes he would wake, crying out, confused and frightened. Memories returning as nightmares. 

And when they did, Carmelita reached for them in their bed, wrapping her arms around him, draping her tail across his waist.  
“It was a dream querida,” she’d whisper, “just a dream. I’m here, this is real. You’re safe. You’re home.”

And Sly would relax into her embrace and let himself be lulled back to sleep.  
“Yes.” He’d whisper back. “Home.”

* * *

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Mayurei who is the absolute best has drawn art  
> [I'M A COP?!?](https://mayurei.tumblr.com/post/164476008174/artwork-for-belldandy-goddessofthepresents-fic)


End file.
